


The Lesson

by BespokeSmut



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, Irene Adler - Fandom, Khan - Fandom, Sherlock (TV), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Dominance, F/M, M/M, Multi, Sexual Content, Smut, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 17:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2782241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BespokeSmut/pseuds/BespokeSmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Woman thinking Cumbers needs a lesson, and she has just the super-human to deliver it.  </p><p>Probably not going to finish this Work in Progress -- and I hadn't gotten to the smut yet.  Sorries!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> Based on both real-life and fictional characters, about whom I claim no knowledge, relationship or ownership. Pure fiction & entertainment.

Khan paced slowly around the solitary metal chair, like a tiger lazily deciding which part of his prey to devour first. He took in the man sitting there, and felt his lips curling into a sneer of disgust.

“Pathetic human,” he thought to himself. This task was beneath him….and worse than that, boring. Wouldn’t it be easier just to crush this contemptible man, and put him out of his misery? But it was a request from an old friend, a favor he couldn’t refuse. At least, not without consequences. Khan would be glad to be free of his obligation to The Woman once this was finished. In the meantime, the man would have to pay for his inconvenience.

Khan refocused his mind on the man in the chair in front of him. What had she said his name was? Something ridiculous, something with too many syllables, something that sounded pale and fragile - almost feminine - to his ear. Butternick Crumplebatch? Bramblefly Stutterback? 

Khan stopped his pacing and turned to face the man’s profile.

“Name?” he asked sharply, and with irritation.

“Ben,” the man said quietly, not looking up, looking ahead and slightly down as he had all evening, as though the floor tile a few feet in front of his chair held endless fascination.

“That’s not right,” snarled Khan, “your real name is absurd. ‘Ben’ could almost be the name of an actual, satisfactory man, and we both know you are far from a satisfactory man.” 

The man in the chair winced slightly, shifting his feet.

“Can you please remind me why I’m here?” the man asked, his voice strained with the effort of politeness. “I was told you had some questions, that I might be of use, so I came. I came of my own volition, and now I’ve been sitting in this chair for 4 hours.” Now there was a touch of forcefulness behind the man's speech, as though saying it out loud had quieted his growing apprehension. “No one has asked me any questions, no one has offered me any further explanation, and frankly I’d like to go home now.”

If Khan had been subject to the softer emotions, he might have found this outburst adorable. 

“At the very least, I have a right to know where I am,” the man bit out.

Khan let the implied question hang in the air, as the man’s temporary bravado begin to deflate. There was nothing more delicious than watching the expressions of a man who was just starting to realize how powerless he was. 

They were in a thick-walled room in the basement of Vauxhall Cross, headquarters for MI6. The very definition of a place where “rights” no longer existed, Khan thought. He could say as much, but preferred to savor the man’s dawning realization a little longer. 

The truth was even more delicious than whatever the man was imagining. There was no reason whatsoever for him to be there, except The Woman decided that he was in need of a lesson. He glanced at the one-way mirror, trying to imagine the expression on her face. He tried to imagine what tidbit of blackmail had given her access to this room at the center of the British Secret Intelligence Service’s headquarters, and felt his lips curl slightly in the imitation of a grin.

Khan’s thoughts drifted back to the beginning of his acquaintance with Ms. Adler, and the circumstances that had caused him to become beholden to her. He had been doing some consulting work for the British government – after all, even he needed shelter and sustenance, and if it provided the opportunity to pocket some sensitive information for his own future use, so much the better. He had been headed up the front steps of the Thames House when he first saw her coming out in the opposite direction. His mind had been on other things, and at first he only registered her optimal hip-to-waist ratio as he automatically analyzed her use for procreation. But then he watched as man in a non-descript black suit had held the outside door open for her. Her impassive face had transformed into an expression of delight that sent a visible shudder through the suit. As soon as she passed through the door, it was gone. Khan registered an imperceptible adjustment in her jaw that seemed familiar to him, and he was struck by her confidence in manipulating the suit’s reaction to her.

Before he could consider it further, she was passing him with an impudent wink. No one winked at Khan. Most of the humans he crossed paths with intuitively gave him a wide birth, seemed to become smaller and more submissive without even realizing it, as if afraid to wake a dormant predator. In this way alone, Khan might have been willing to concede some basic level of intelligence, were it not clearly a survival strategy borne out of their biological imperative. 

He had therefore expected to feel rage at her brazen wink, but realized with surprise that he was intrigued. No one surprised Khan, either. He was furious, but riveted. Perhaps sharing a world with inferior beings was starting to dull him? Either that, or she was something different. She was hardly his equal, but he had found himself impressed by her. A rare enough experience to pique his curiosity.


End file.
